


Event Horizon: the story of the big bang.

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, Season/Series 01, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-12
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: A series of first personal singular narratives from Dean and Sam archiving their route towards consumation. In series one, probably after Skin and around Bugs: a complex, indirect but eventually successful journey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Event Horizon: When Sam met Dean.

 

Patroclus76

 

______________________

 

 

(Sam). 

 

I find something very weird in Dean’s jacket pocket this morning. I find it when cleaning up his mess and trying to dig a way through his debris field to get to the bathroom. It is some sort of weird list on the back of an old hotel menu. It is written in haste under the printed heading favourite side orders. There are numerous crossings out as if Dean has been unsure of their exact order and has changed his mind several times. 

 

1\. The side to side head shake and pout. (sometimes without pout- varies)

 

2\. The sucked in cheek `fuck off and die‘ look - almost a sneer. Nostrils flared a bit - very hot. Sometimes followed by outburst and rant.

 

3\. The `pained’ smile - dimpled and non-dimpled. Jaw work noticeable. `I am a fucking saint’ expression. 

 

4\. The eye flash and sigh. Sigh good. Volume varies. Big sigh and hand movements very hot. `Why?’ `or Dean?’ which means `Why’ anyway. Sometimes Dean! And then (1) 

together. Equivalent to my `You know you’re unbelievable?’ 

 

5\. The shout and simultaneous head movement. 

 

6\. The secret (not) `I am so fucking clever’ smirk. I am `so much’ more onto this than you.

 

7\. The semi-serious chick `I want to hold you’ eyelid flicker and eye watering technique. 

 

[Sam noticed that this had once held number 2 and had clearly dropped through various positions - seemingly holding in at number 4 for some time].

 

8\. The anguished sob.

 

I stand semi naked in a towel and hold the list out in front of my face like a ransom note. This is clearly about me. It has to be - I mean - it’s a complete list of my entire facial work out! Has Dean been studying me, the bastard? I walk into the bathroom, put the note down, remove the towel, take a piss, but before I go to step into the bath for a shower I have to remove yet more of Dean’s crap: T-shirt, jeans, socks, boxers. Dean’s inability to keep tidy is almost as miraculous as his belief in the power of clothes to wash themselves. I hold the boxers up to my face - seemingly unintentionally - and look at the door to make sure it’s locked. I am sure Dean is comatose in the next room, face down like a beached whale washed up following some navigation error. I press the boxers into my face, full on, I mean not even delicately, and I have Dean’s heavy musk on my nose and mouth. I get an instant, painful hard-on, my cock snaking heavily to one side, vaguely off balance. I stroke it as a form of reassurance and find the idea that Dean’s cock is almost identical to mine distressingly erotic. I pair open the boxers and lick the fabric. 

 

I snap out of my erotic spirit quest, clear the bath and run the hose. My cock - still bizarrely hard - points out and away like an accusation. I look down at the boxers and consider some necessary indiscretion, the need to spray my scent over my brothers but I am spared by Dean walking into the door and banging his face.

 

`Shit.’

 

`It’s locked’ I say, dead-pan, my heart racing suddenly.

 

`Yeah thanks for that, I worked that out all by myself. How long are you going to be?’

 

`Dean, I’ve just got into the shower!’ I narrow my eyes and shake my head and then stop, conscious of performing Number One on the list. `Just wait, dude!’

 

`Sam I need a leak, urgently. It’s that piss water excuse for a beer, it goes straight through me!’

 

`You’ve been drinking already?’ 

 

`No, moron, from last night! Sam, please -’

 

`Dean just go and piss out front, in the bushes!’ I smile at the image, a wide dimple smile. 

 

`Sammy open the fucking door or I’ll take it off its hinges!’ 

 

He probably will. Dean is not a morning guy. He’s a sort of late afternoon icepack on the head sort of guy. The knowledge that we are actually brothers continues to shock and awe me on a hourly basis. 

 

`Ok, jesus!’ 

 

The risk of complying with his demand is that partly I have to get out wet, secondly my own sample of vintage Winchester meat is stubbornly holding onto some record breaking erection. Half my blood supply must be down there - nine veined, sculptured inches and no sign of release or let up. It’s like trying to hide a baton. 

 

`Sammy! I’ll wet myself!’

 

I grab the towel back, bunch it up rather absurdly in front of my lower abs, half slip towards the door and undo the bolt. Dean bursts in like a fucking express train, jogging pants and sweat shirt, his hand already at his groin. I roll my eyes, and next minutes, leaning into the wall, Dean is thundering out his water into the pan with all the indiscretion of a man devoid of modesty or even self awareness.

 

`Dean -’ I sound plaintive. I am about to protest, but Dean is in that strange twilight zone where men go when they finally take an emergency leak. In his remote landscape of immeasurable relief, Dean pisses like a horse and stares blankly at the wall as if he has just noticed something really interesting, a treasure map, or a mirror. 

 

`Ah, god that is so, so good. And quit your whining, Sammy. I have a weak bladder or something. It’s your fault, you keep nagging me to drink more water!’ he cranes his neck back to look at me. His eyes are sleepy and he has a pillow crease over his forehead. His hair is sticking up as if someone has playfully stuck his toes into a light socket. He is indescribably sexy and sort of vulnerable. He looks at the towelled fig leafed in front of my groin and groans.

 

`What with the purdah outfit?’ 

 

`I was taking a shower, Dean.’

 

`God you’re such a chick-’ Dean shakes his cock delicately and then looks at it in the same way I have seen him look at parts of his car; an affectionate note of concern that all is well and in running order. `Well get going, girl - we’re off to Idaho !’ 

 

He flushes the pan, turns around and playfully lunges at the towel, tweaking it hard with his hand. He is as surprised as I am shocked.

 

`Fucking hell! Is that a gun in your towel or are you just please -’

 

`Dean! - ‘ I point to the door as if he is a stray dog - which of course he is. i am conscious of doing a classic performance of number 4. 

 

He makes a shocked, eye narrowed pout as if he is impressed. `God you’re a beast, man’ but as he turns to go his eyes fall on the list - his list - lying face up by the sink. 

 

`What's that?' Dean's attempt to sound disinterested is faintly absurd. 

 

`What?'

 

`Nohting!' he snatched the menu, and turns to me in a scowl `Come ON! Get showered, we'll be late!'


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: Since this is Dean we're talking about, it needs a cautionary warning before you read it. I am still getting a feel for how the ratings work in practice. If this really should be a NC-17 please don't bite my head off, let me know and I'll sort. My feeling is it isn't.  


* * *

Event Horizon: When Sam met Dean.

 

Patroclus76

 

Part Two: 

______________________

 

(Dean)

 

Something is definitely wrong with me. I mean seriously, Betty Davies doodle ally tapped wrong with me. And ominously, it has something to do with me angelic `butter wouldn’t melt in my ass’ brother. 

 

Sam. 

 

The one and only Sam. Geek boy and lately, weirdly, Sex on legs (SOL). I need help! When SOL goes off shortly to get his iced Latte with lemon and frosted chocolate, or to arrange his socks into matching woodland shades deep in the privacy of the bathroom, I shall steal his fucking laptop and Google a shrink. Or a sex therapist. I’m that desperate. They HAVE to have mobile shrinks, like mobile hairdressers? They just have to. Perhaps I can slope off when Sam is taking his metro sexual afternoon nap and meet them in the parking lot. But where would I begin to tell a complete stranger about this wicked, sinful, shameless urge?

 

I mean it didn’t really start with the threesome incidentally. Let’s be blunt about this. It had started long before. The threesome sort of `outted’ the crisis so to speak. And the threesome had been my idea, of course, with Sam, semi-stoned, doing his down in the mouth `I am not so sure I want to do this’ head to head nodding routine, as if I’d just asked him to shoot a granny. 

 

`Come on, Sammy!‘

 

`Dean I feel a bit fucked, man. Can’t we just watch a movie?‘ 

 

I did my `you are unbelievable!’ shrug with hands to either side of me, as if I was trying to wave down a jet liner. After all I had lined up the most awesome big titted blond on the planet, admittedly of indeterminate age, but clean and with a pulse. And we clearly needed down time (so to speak) since we had just recovered from the Asylum job where Sam had seriously considered blowing my brains out. That wasn’t good. We needed to chill out together. I talked Sam into it. God he was hard work. I could have negotiated an entire Middle East peace accord by the time he agreed. 

 

Eventually we got the woman back, loudly, and at one stage into the wrong bedroom. I think I might have dyslexia or something, but all these motel rooms look the same. I was sure it was our room, but it was the false teeth in the jar that gave it away and the body in the bed. Once we apologised to the occupant and got into the right room, the woman was giggling hysterically and was well up for dirty sex. Single beds together, iced shots and discrete lighting. Sam went into the bathroom to clean his god damn teeth or something while I was peeling her pants down and licking her nipples. 

 

I managed to multi-task stripping down to my jeans at the same time, and then `Daisy’ (if that WAS her real name) peeled my cock out and started blowing down the piss-eye as if it was a fucking clarinet. Perhaps she meant to literally give me a blow job? A sort of local variant on a universal theme? I was too horned to care at this stage - she did had great tits, and she was clearly admiring my torso and thinking I was some sort of god. She kept saying `Dean’ as if it was an adjective. She probably last scored with some short legged sales dude from Fort Worth or something and just couldn’t believe her luck. It’s s shame there were no mirrors, though.

 

Sam finally made his appearance while she was licking my dog balls and prizing down my boxers with a certain air of professional impatience, as if she was on a meter. So much for foreplay. Sam sidled in butt naked, his pop idol hair over his eyes looking like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. For one awful moment I actually thought he was going to introduce himself and shake her hand. Luckily he thought twice about it and stroked his body as if he was cold. I was momentarily distracted by his physique, which either because I was very, very pissed, or because the light was weird, looked incredibly buffed. Somehow he’d acquired awesome shoulders with all the heads of the deltoids developed in harmony, complete with pert disco tits, clichéd abs and a thick curved cock - the same as mine obviously - but rooting out of his long lean body - it looked actually bigger than mine. 

 

`Come on bro, which end?’

 

`What?’

 

Sam looked at me slightly out of focus, at my cock and the clarinet player as if I was some sort of math problem, or we were on a First Aid course demonstrating the rest position. Luckily `Daisy’, not a women to show or even reward diffidence, grabbed Sam’s curved weapon of a cock and rammed it into her open mouth. She was pretty awesome. I guessed she must breath through her nose. When she finally surfaced she said ``Shit that’s good’ clearly referring to Sam. Bastard. Feeling irritatingly competitive, I slapped the wide cut head of my cock against her chin, in a sort of playful way you understand, while Sam groaned and angled his length in and out of her throat with uncanny professionalism. 

 

Hearing my bro moan was distressing horny. This should have been a warning. As indeed was the fact that I was looking at his cock, the flat lower abs and his thick thighs and - the unbelievable fact - that he trimmed his pubes. `Daisy’, aware that I was staring at my brother’s genitals as if they had a 100 dollar bill pinned on them, shifted her attention to my testicles and upped the pace a bit but showed no sign of letting Sam go. I slapped my cock against her cheek again, a tad impatient while Sam had a sort of far away long ago look on his face that I THINK denoted joy, of a kind. 

 

`Come on Daisy, let Dean in now!’ 

 

`Wait your turn, Dean.’ Sam snapped to attention and gave me his superior little smirk, half dimpled, and then sighed in deep lust. Meanwhile `Daisy’ - who was clearly double jointed or some sort of circus freak - managed to get onto the bed face up without letting go of my balls or Sam‘s cock; threw her legs wide open and nodded gamely towards her feet. Sam looked momentarily bemused, as if she had just asked him to get the phone or something, but I clambered up on top of her and bagged first shag while Sam, guessing we were through with the preliminaries, hitched up in front of me, and after some feet adjustments and some very girly waving of his arms, continued to ride her face with his hands on her head. The bed rocked and dipped like a fucking bouncing castle. It was better than Disneyland. 

 

Then things took a rather sinister and altogether dangerous turn. There I was, my knees up to either side, pounding down on some vintage pussy like I was planting tulip bulbs with Sam’s muscled bubble ass pert up in front of me. I was thinking to myself, this is pretty awesome and wild and just like the god damn movies but I was still paying more attention to Sam than I was to the woman. I mean, in part I had no choice. I mean I had a full on, front seat view of Sam’s dimpled butt cheeks, the low brown balls, and the narrowed padded back wedging up into his shoulders like a fucking ski slope. He was sweating now, and his ass was drizzled and stinking like a well oiled machine. All I could see of Daisy was a naval piercing and a tattoo (or was it a birth mark) and that was it. It might not even have been `Daisy’ but the pattern on the quilt cover. 

 

I tried to get back on track, but all I could see and smell was Sam. And the weird thing was I was now so fucking hard and turned on I felt I was in danger of either hyperventilating or setting fire to the bed. What the fuck was wrong with me? Sam was a) A MAN and b) MY BROTHER. I struggled heroically with my porn imagination to right this sinister insidious wrong, (Amazon lesbians, nurses with nipple clamps and Cheerio’s) but just as I almost succeeded, Sam brought his lower back in to drive his cock further into `Daisy’s’ mouth and I caught sight of his button hole of an ass ring, incised darkly and secretly behind his balls. It was deep and hairless and looked dark like velvet in the gloom. Every time Sam swung up it winked at me suggestively. 

 

I was pretty close to shooting my juice by this stage, but the sight was probably the horniest thing I had ever seen - and the fact it was Sam’s basement entry, his secret boy pussy hidden away for most of the time like the national debt, literally took my breath away. And without thinking about it, (I mean what in god’s name was I thinking) I leaned down and, forcing my face between his butt, sucked and licked on his ass like some total gay boy. Sam went `OOOOOOOOh GOD!‘ and several things happened at once.

 

I came loads and still inside Daisy, which was sort of bad manners in the circumstances. Sam came as well without taking his cock from her mouth and nearly drowned the poor woman who evidently had no warning and was clearly thinking about her grocery shopping or where she’d left the car. Sam, nudged suddenly forward by my chin, mouth, tongue and nose being wedged into his most vulnerable opening, lost his balance and fell forward, still spraying semen everywhere like a fire extinguisher, concussing himself against a table. There was a lot of noise. At this stage the man next door - the dude without the teeth who had ALMOST landed a foursome, banged on the wall and screamed in complaint. I think Daisy screamed, or perhaps it was me. 

 

I unplugged the Dean apparatus and scrambled to see if Sam was alright. He was on his side groaning, but not from the head injury. Meanwhile Daisy, vaguely put out, looking at her watch, and clearly still a long way to go before she got her money’s worth, did a bee line for the bathroom muttering some sort of Texan curse. 

 

`Sammy? Sam? You ok?’

 

SOL opened a brown-green eye and looked at me as if for a moment he didn’t recognise me. 

 

`Sam!’

 

`ok, ok - jesus’ he sat up, his cock lean and leaking over his thigh, and shook his head. `Did you lick my ass?’

 

I looked at him ready for my well rehearsed performance of `I did WHAT!’ routine, but he looked so cute and comical that I had started to laugh. 

 

`Yeah, sorry about that bro, I got a bit confused, some sort of co-ordination problem.’

 

`Daisy’ was running so much water onto the bath I had to raise my voice slightly. It was like shouting over the Niagara Falls. 

 

`Ok?‘ he looked at me, slightly cross eyed. I was aware that I still had his scent on my face and that the idea of what I had done was getting me stiff again. Luckily we were saved by Daisy returning and asking for payment. She was good natured about the whole thing, although she asked me if we were brothers a number of times, and in the end I sort of threw her out before I got the jitters. Unusually, when I finally got rid of her, Sam had not barricaded himself in the bathroom but was sitting on the floor looking ever so vaguely suspicious. 

 

`Come on, dude, let’s clean up here.’ I tried to sound all breezy and matter of fact. I righted the table and start picking stuff up, including the packet of rubbers I should have used but hadn‘t. 

 

Sam finally got up and walked into the bedroom in a zombie trance. His jizz was everywhere like thick strings of glue, in the carpet, on the bed, even on the fucking window. I was disturbingly impressed. No wonder `Daisy’ had run a bath. She'd probably need a stram cleaning. 

 

When Sam emerged, I went and washed my cock and brushed my teeth and came back to find Sam looking at me with that chick eye glint look. 

 

`What?’

 

`Have you washed your face?’

 

I hadn’t. I hadn’t without knowing, and without knowing, I hadn’t deliberately. 

 

`Sam are you going to obsess about this? It took place in the heat of the moment!’ I felt a bit weird about the whole thing to be honest. I switched the light off. After a moment of silence Sam said.

 

`I’m not obsessing.’

 

`Good.' 

 

I tried to ignore another painful and unscheduled hardon. I could still feel the ghost of Sam’s butt on the bridge of my nose. 

 

`I was thinking, actually, that was the hottest thing that anyone has ever done to me!’

 

`Oh god, you were?'


	3. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes: Dean's account continues - beware dear reader, the dangers of tackling serious issues when under the influence of demon drink.....  


* * *

Part Three: Dean and the Unbearable Lightness of Being or never talk when drunk. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Sam doesn’t reply and so I turn over and try and abandon all consciousness. Usually I just collapse and go out like a fucking light after a session like this. But not tonight, oh no. Firstly I am aware that Sammy boy is wide awake, fidgeting and muttering; obviously thinking over what just happened a la Daisy, frame by frame, and probably taking notes as well. Secondly, I still have dog boy’ s musk up my nose and on my lips and worse than that, every time I close my eyes I see Sam’s astoundingly tactile, peachy butt glimmering in front of me like a pair of killer marshmallows. 

 

Then the rest of Sex on Legs comes into view like the moon clearing a cloud bank; the edible ridge of flesh between my brother’s ass and balls, the short golden hairs fuzzing the top of Sam’s thighs, even the glassy eyed slack jawed gasp as he jets his seed everywhere. Jesus! No Daisy in sight, no tits, nothing remotely feminine but good old Sam‘s winking third eye! Then I must fall asleep because I dream I am holding his thick veined cock against mine, sparring with the heads, both slick and papery white with pre-cum. Alarmingly, his is definately bigger than mine and tastes of cherry cola. 

 

The bed jolts. I wake up with a start. Shit! I’ve been body snatched. I must be someone else! I start to hyperventilate and crash the table over trying to put the light back on. Either my head is swinging violently or we are having some sort of major fucking earthquake. 

 

`Dean?’ 

 

`Whoa!’ 

 

Sam sounds hideously awake and sober. Clinically sober. The freak must metabolise alcohol differently to everyone else or he lies about drinking his shots and pours them into his pockets. 

 

`Dean you ok?’

 

`Sure I’m ok.’ 

 

I try not to slur. In the dim iridescent glow of some crap energy saving light bulb, I just about make Sam out sitting up in bed, looming like a fucking Buddha in a cave. He’s put that weird anti-wrinkle stuff on his face and is faintly luminous. I can’t see too well and for a moment I have no idea where the bathroom is. Then I work out that the room is back to front, or more likely that some evil son of a bitch has put my bed outside in the parking lot. I give the thumbs up to Sam, a weirdly ambiguous gesture that makes him frown, little white luminous lines like fire flies, and then I promptly walk smack into the wall. When I come to I am clearly on one of those original TV Batman sets, where the camera angles are deliberately wonky and I am looking up at a pair of muscled legs.

 

`Dean what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you ok?’ 

 

`Sam where am I? What’s happened to our motel room?’ I screw my head around. Sam is squatting over me, butt naked, slapping my face in a vaguely interrogatory fashion like he might get to enjoy it. 

 

`Dean, you’re completely off your tits - come on - ‘

 

`I think I’m going to hurl.’ 

 

`Oh great! Come on, get up or you’ll choke -’ 

 

I feel strong arms hook under my arm pits and haul me up like a sack of meal. Next minute I am standing next to Sam looking at his mouth. My stomach is in my throat.

 

`Sam I feel like shit. I think Daisy spiked my drinks?’

 

The mouth says in Sam’s preppy `I told you so’ voice

 

`No, Dean. You just drank an entire bottle of whiskey all by your greedy self- ‘ 

 

I go to protest or call witnesses but I am being dragged towards a door, or perhaps the door is being dragged towards me. Shit perhaps I’ve been arrested for incest?

 

I look at Sam in horror. Did I say that word out loud? Did he say it? 

 

`Look I can explain everything, Sammy.‘ 

 

 

`Dean just get a grip!' 

 

To my relief the room turns out to be the bathroom. I crouch down near the toilet, wet and sweaty while Sam pours water onto a towel, rings it out and then, squatting again down besides me, wipes my face and my neck. 

 

`Sam that’s awesome. Do it again.’

 

He sighs irritably, presses his lips together and does that weirdly beautiful side to side nod that melts my innards, the sort those dog things do in the backs of cars, with the heads on wires. 

 

`Dean you're a big baby.‘ Sam burbles some strange language, dabbing my lips and pulling a cooie face. To demonstrate my appreciation, I suddenly throw up an absurd amount of fluid, probably about twelve gallons, neatly and with some skill it has to be said, into the sink for what seems like an hour. It's pretty spectacular. Ninja like, Sam jumps backwards and manages to get clear tutting and cursing until, like Old Faithful, I subside and sink to the floor, my eruption complete. 

 

`That’s so much better!’ I gasp. 

 

`Yeah? Well I guess that’s the sink out of commission for the next year at least! Here.’ 

 

Sam hands me a towel and I bury my face, relieved, ashamed. When I remove it the room has steadied and my brother is running his hands over my neck and shoulders like I am giant panda. He is doing it gently, almost absent mindedly. 

 

`Cut that out, Sam!’ I push him off, stand up and hold the sink for a while. God I am so ungrateful, but really, he shouldn’t do that. Not while I am so vulerable. I am aware that he is standing behind me, frowning, deploying his award winning `knife to the heart cheated on look’, the look he stole from Joan Crawford. `I’m ok now, Sam. Thanks.’ I try to sound cool but it comes out a bit flat and panicky. 

 

`Don’t mention it.’ he says icily and leaves me. God he is such a manipulative little bastard. I scowl at myself in the mirror, clean my teeth and then sit on the edge of the bath. Suddenly I feel cold and incredibly miserable. I sit for ages until my butt goes numb and I can no longer feel my feet. Fuck knows what time it is. All I can think about is Sam, not even the full on 3D porno version now, but the tall beautiful demon child Sam lying awake next door, waiting, as he has always been waiting, waiting patiently for me to tell him the truth. 

 

The truth about how I feel. 

 

About him. 

 

Jesus. This is worse than one of those fucking French movies with sub-titles in which nothing happens until the entire cast get killed at the end for no reason. You know the ones with the stupid titles like `A year of denial' or `Death in Venice'. Cut to rain soaked window. Fin. 

 

I think of his ass in my face, the unbearable, indescribable proximity of his body and suddenly I want to fuck his brains out, I mean literally, press him down and open him out, really sweat him up, almost hurt him but then worst of all, I mean off the scale of all worseness is the fact I want to make love to him. I want to give him something precious that can never be returned. I mean - shit - isn’t this illegal? I mean, don’t we have to be at least Mormons or something? 

 

`Dean, come on - get to bed.’ 

 

Sam is standing in the doorway, discreetly shrouded in a sheet, I say discreetly but in fact it makes him look sexier than ever, angelic, dazzlingly chiselled and sleepily concerned. His hair is all chaotic and fluffy. How does he do it? Combine the sublime with the ridiculous? His young man’s masculinity with his inner bitch? It makes no sense. It’s like seeing the Archangel Gabriel appear with a hot water bottle. 

 

I look at him glassy eyed. 

 

`You still feel sick?’ 

 

`Yeah. Real sick.’ 

 

`Do you want me to do anything, get you something?’ 

 

He still sounds vaguely pissy. I know every tone, every look. It’s not surprising but the intensity is. 

 

`Come here, Sam.’

 

He narrows his eyes, sensing a trap. He looks furtively at the bath to see whether I have wired it with electrodes or live eels. 

 

`What is it?’

 

`Sammy. Come here.’

 

He walks over in studied resignation, ready to go off on one of his tantrum lectures, `You know Dean, I just don't understand Dean, how is this possible Dean' etc etc. But he is too suspicious to speak. 

 

`I don’t know how to say this, Sam.’

 

`Say what?’ He is still pissy but he is now ever so slightly curious. He curls his lips up and is flaring his nostrils like a young colt that smells a fire. 

 

My mouth is very dry. What I am about to say can never be unsaid. It will be like a binding spell, right or wrong. 

 

`I want to fuck you senseless.’


	4. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes: We now have Sam's version of events leading to the incident in the bathroom. Brace yourselves.  


* * *

Event Horizon. (Part Four)

\-----------------------------

 

Patroclus76.

 

`Is this a dagger I see before me?’ (Shakespeare: Julius Caesar) or `Oh Sammy!’

 

\------------------------------

 

I let the `list’ incident slide, incidentally. I had no idea what it was about, and although I hoped against hope that it was part of some premeditated nasty plan by Dean to grab my face, lick it and then, sneering ever so slightly, FUCK it, I put it down to Dean’s weird third parent protection racket. He’d been absurdly protective recently, ` Sam you should get your hair trimmed, a mean, just a bit?’ `Sam have you eaten enough?’; `Sam look at that babe over there, go and have a chat or something?’’; `Hey Sam you’ve got a hair in your eye, hoooooold it baby - there got it!’ 

 

Fucking hell! Yesterday Dean even tucked in my shirt - which I never tuck in, for God’s sake (who does?) in an absent minded sort of way while eating his cornflakes. Like I was twelve!

 

`Dean! Will you lay off me for a bit?’

 

Startled, like a man who wakes up in a gambling den, Dean was all surprises and wise cracks. `Sam will you contain your temper, boy!’ he barked in some politically unsound Southern accent, and I felt my stomach knot and tense as he flashed his smile and his brilliant almost luminous eyes at me, still sleepy, coy, as if he almost knew what I was thinking. 

 

Almost. 

 

I was getting close to the edge, frankly. In fact I suspected I was half way over it, with Dean holding me by the legs and going `Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!’ like a parent dangling a child off the top of a big dipper. I could contain my sinful, unquenchable lust for my older brother if I blocked out the remote and perverse possibility that the attraction was reciprocated. It wasn’t, I mean it couldn’t be, although - although it was hard working out what was going on in Dean’s mind at the best of times: he was after all a muscular hot version of Homer Simpson. The macho cock strutting `I laugh in the face of death and then, I laugh again!’ attitude was as fake as hell, but love and lust ran surprisingly deep in Dean and close together and hard to tell apart. Bizarrely he was a sentimental son of a bitch, especially over me. 

 

Walking out to fetch the necessary stash of caffeine that morning I was almost close to tears. How much longer, in the 24/7 media circus of my life with Dean, could I get away from the gravitational attraction between his body and my sex drive? It was hopeless. I jacked off about three or four times a day over him already like some caged animal, I horded his underwear, I even stalked and jacked off over the porn he’d jacked off to; I was probably dangerously close to cutting bits of his body off and putting them into jars. It was only a question of time until he stumbled in on something far less innocuous than me stroking idly to Busty Asian Babes 12: The Reunion. A matter of weeks! Only the other day he had almost caught me in the bathroom which I had forgotten to lock properly. I had been squatting on the floor, my left hand on the base of my cock, my right hand wet and kneading deep in my own ass like a man groping for his own tonsils. It had been a very close thing. Even now the thought of Dean finding me in such a depraved yoga position moaning `DDDDDean you bastard!‘ gave me palpitations. Perhaps we should start getting separate rooms, spending time apart, but how could I do that and not escape the subsequent interrogation and the Dean rabbit in headlights `you selfish little bitch’ look without dying or confessing?

 

My worst fear was, of course, that I would confess - suddenly, randomly, in the car, over breakfast, while digging up a corpse. It was like I had all these words and images in my head and they were digging their way out! God that was one fucking unpleasant thought!

 

When I got back Dean had decided unilaterally that there was nothing to do and that we needed `down time’ (sic). Disturbingly, he had moved the breakfast table out onto the veranda near the parking lot and was playing with my laptop in a serious and rather sneeky manner. This usually led to a major fucking tantrum by me followed by slapping and pulling, but I noticed that he had bought me some absurd breakfast candy and made some sort of paper - thing - with a napkin and put a smiley face on it. My eyes watered with the sheer enormity of my love, lust and helplessness. 

 

`We’re on holiday today, Sammy. It’s official. Today is a non-hunting day!’ He smiled and winked and my groin turned to liquid. `I like Fort Worth, it’s cool in a sort of Texan way!’

 

The top of his shirt was undone and I could see his neck and the start of his chest. 

 

`Are you sure there’s no work? I mean - are you looking now?’ I had put the coffee down. Dean was probably looking at a movie trivia site or porn. His appetite for porn was almost as insatiable as my appetite for his underwear. Only a man as careless as Dean could fail to have noticed the mysterious depletion of his entire wardrobe. Most guys would have called in the FBI long ago. 

 

`looking, no, no - I was checking the weather. Look, I’ve been thinking that we should go out to night and get some action?! Sam? Action?’

 

`Action?’ I did that weird snort and smirk that, oddly enough, hadn’t appeared on the list at all the other day. `I thought this was down time?’

 

`It is, Sammy boy, I mean, chick action - you and me - ‘

 

`Dean.’ I bleeted his name like a god damn Billy goat. 

 

`What! It'll do you good, get some of your juices out - you know -’ he sounded unsure whether he did, actually and then made that diffident self conscious smirk he made when he was bullshitting badly. Dean had pimped me out before to some chick’s sister but we had fucked in differing rooms, in fact to be honest Dean had fucked in the car because I had complained about the feel of the leather on my butt. And all the time I had been having sex I had been thinking of Dean having sex, loud and happy, like a Viking. The idea that we were going to try this experiment again filled me with blind terror. 

 

`Dean I just don’t want to do this, ok? You go - I’ll check into another room, bring her back, It’s ok with me.’

 

`What in god’s name is wrong with you? I’ll treat us to a first class hooker, Sam. I’ll loosen her up, you know, get her to relax, and then you can join us.’

 

`Wait a minute. You mean we fuck the same women?’ 

 

`Yeah!’ 

 

Dean seemed too enthusiastic for sarcasm. A deep chill spread over my face and neck. What in god's name was he up to? 

 

`You’re serious? A threesome?’

 

`Hey not so loud, it’s probably illegal outside a church or something. Yeah, you game?’ 

 

I sat, hands on the table, looking at Dean as if he’s just volunteered to piss all over me. Perhaps I was hallucinating. I had to say no while my head was screaming `yes yes YES!’

 

`Dean, wait man, I mean - me and you with a chick, isn’t it a bit - well sort of gay?’ I placed the word very carefully in the middle of the conversation as if it would explode suddenly. Dean hated this word, it made him all twitchy and dysfunctional and angry. To my surprise - and intense panic - he seemed to looked WORRIED. 

 

`You think? I mean there’s a woman in there, some high class hooker - I mean - we’ll spare no expense man - come on, how can that be gay?’

 

I was sweating slightly, on my palms, on the top of my lip, in my groin. I had a painful bullet like erection stuck up in the top corner of my jeans and I was trying to do that discrete small of the back in thigh wriggle guys have to do to release the pressure. By some strange coincidence, Dean seemed to be doing the same thing. 

 

`Dean - let me think about it - ‘

 

`Cool!’ 

 

Suddenly across from us in the parking lot some sort of fracas had broken out in the proximity of our car. There was a lot of arm waving and pointing in our general direction.

 

`Dean, I think we’ve blocked some dude in behind us.’

 

`What?’ He looked away from the laptop which he had been scrutinising with remarkable intensity and then said `Oh yeah. Shit. Hold it - it’s ok! I’ll move it! Leave it a lone, hey!’ He stood up and I saw the thick stiff outline of my brother’s cock in his jeans, a bizarre spooky mirror image of mine. Dean walked off, fingering his groin and shouting at some woman to stop banging his rear fender. 

 

I felt sick with fear. 

 

As soon as he had turned his back to me, I leaned over and reclaimed my laptop. Given the state of his dick I braced myself for some truly shocking digitally enhanced picture of a Thai chick but found that Dean had been reading a report on psychotherapy. What the fuck? I clicked open his previous navigated sites and my blood froze. 

 

Bisexuality. 

 

`The Gay Phase Explained?’

 

and then without a doubt, without any doubt in the entire universe, a bookmarked entry entitled `Incest and non-reproductive rights or Is my brother hitting on me?' 

 

Shit!

 

He was onto me! Dean knew! He had to! Despite the fact it was my laptop I threw it back onto Dean’s side of the table and covered my face with my hands. Dean had decided I needed help, and his idea was to share a woman with me! I mean that was exactly the sort of cock handed way Dean thought he could help! I tried to pull myself together as Dean got into some sort of Latin free for all with a woman in a four by four. Why was I surprised he had found out. It was so obvious, it had been painfully obvious! Eventually I heard him storming over, muttering to himself.

 

`Stupid bitch. You should see what’s she’s done to the fender!’

 

`It’s ok Dean, we’ll sort it out.’

 

He was so angry he didn’t notice that the laptop had been moved or that I had turned a sort of sea green. 

 

`So, look, you relax, Sammy. Read the papers - I mean on line - I’ll take a walk and sort out some hot location for us to start our down time!’ he slapped my arm and almost fucking skipped off with joy. I lay my face down on his origami `thing’ and considered running away.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: Sam’s `nightmare’ continues as he narrates his journey to `Daisy’ - if that is her real name, of course. We shall pause for breath before the concluding episode....  


* * *

Event Horizon… part five.

 

Patroclus76

 

 

 

`In order to sublimate a psychosis, the patient must consciously enact the very fantasy that they fear most to acknowledge, let alone articulate.’ Freud to Jung. October 1911. 

 

 

\----------------------

(Sam)

 

 

Dean returns from his mysterious mission grinning like a neo-Nazi, and, smirking still, drags my sorry ass round the back of the motel block to a ruinous lido and pool area, probably last used in the 1950s for `duck and cover‘ practice. 

 

`Dean! What the fuck?‘

 

But my intrepid brother had already requisitioned some old deckchairs and is removing his shirt. Nothing will dent his mood. 

 

`Sam quit your whining, we’re going to relax and enjoy ourselves! It’s like the opening scene of Sunset Boulevard!’ 

 

`It is?’ 

 

`Yeah! You’re the dead Monkey! Or Norma Desmond!’

 

I have no idea what he is talking about. A life time of cheap boarding houses and months waiting for Dad to return means Dean’s knowledge of daytime TV and the afternoon movie slot is unbeatable. I stand, holding my hands slightly clenched by my sides and watch Dean start to cover himself with oil. His body is heavy and muscular, his pecs broad with big hard nipples and no hair in sight. I close my eyes and breath through my nose as if I might suddenly charge and mount, screaming for him to bitch my ass. 

 

`You’ll burn, Dean.’ I say in my super kill joy voice. It’s my most effective deterrent against an excess of Dean optimism. It works immediately. He looks at me as if I’ve just urinated on his camp fire. In fact his face is so pissy and suggestive of graphic violence that my cock fills out rapidly like an airbag in a car and I feel faint with lust. It seems plausible that now knowing my dirty secret he is going to torment me all day, pimp me out to some hooker and then get me sectioned. Again the temptation to confess almost overwhelms me. 

 

`Sam?’

 

`What?’

 

`You’re drooling dude, everything ok?’ 

 

`It’s the heat!’ I stomp back to the motel room and fetch some books - Wittgenstein for Beginners, and the ever useful Ten Ways to Calculate Astronomical Distance, both suspiciously by the same author. When I get back Dean is sizzling like a beef steak and looking at skin mags. He’s donned a pair of truly absurd shades that make him look vaguely like Margaret Fonteyn. I try not to laugh but make a sort of snorting noise and he glares at me again, possibly hurt, most likely suspicious. The water in the pool looks toxic. I spy a very sad plastic flamingo on one leg peeling like a Temple deity lost in Pompeii. It’s all very Roman, in a sort of 4th century AD sort of way. I fantasise that Dean is a Centurion and I am some rebellious slave who needs plundering, my broad bare back lashed with a whip. Weirdly, as if he is now telepathic, Dean says carefully

 

`You should take your shirt off, Sam. Here -’ he throws the bottle of oil at me, still tacky with his thumbprints. Prudishly I peel my top off and sense Dean watching me although I can’t see his eyes and given the angle of his head, he appears to be scrutinising a centre page spread. He is. 

 

`Fancy humping that, Sammy?’ 

 

I can hardly see through the glare off the cheap paper. I pretend to be reading something about parsecs, but I am still watching Dean through my narrowed eyes like something under a microscope. I have to get out of tonight! Somehow! I have to drink gasoline or perhaps swim in the pool, anything to spare me the sight of Dean planting his cock in some one other than me. It’s that simple. And if I’m present when he’s fucking I’ll definitely lose it - I mean - imagine the shame! Meanwhile Dean clenches his butt - I see his thigh muscles tense as he shifts on the chair - and farts melodiously. 

 

`Dean, you’re an animal - did you know that?’ 

 

He ignores me and I doze over the image of Dean dragging me over towards him, grabbing my face, prising my mouth open with his fingers and just breeding my face with his cock, without warning, almost absent mindedly, as if he is bored. I have so much blood in my groin that I have cramp in my legs. I try Wittgenstein but all I can think about is Dean and sexual filth, involving me in a variety of dangerous stunts. I even start to dream lucidly, imaging Dean caging me and jacking me off into a pan to make cheese as if I am a pet goat.

 

`Fuck milk me, man!’

 

`What?’

 

Dean is now definitely looking at me, the Fonteyn glasses down the end of his nose. For a second I am incapable of anything but a sort of gold fish impersonation, with my cheeks blowing up and down in terror. 

 

`I want milk, Dean?’

 

`What? Now? You’re weird, Sam. Weird!’ To my amazement he rolls up and gets me some as well, crossing over to the motel room like a muscular mother, tutting and complaining. My eyes weep with love. I want his children!!!!!!!!! No wait. He is deliberately tormenting me. I am sick. 

 

By 4 pm I have been forced to resort to an emergency jack off procedure that involves me sneaking back to the motel rest room and banging out my jizz with quick gasping movements while I watch Dean snoozing like a giant Walrus. Then I stroll back and pretend nothing has happened. When Dean comes back to life I am so sore and exhausted I think I have a legitimate excuse to get out of the down time exercise, possible typhoid, but nothing comes between Dean and his surprises. By five he is ready and although I manage to distract him by a complementary pay per view channel he grabs me and dresses me for slaughter while watching an Asian woman play with a hose pipe. I allow him to button up my shirt watching his face, desperate to lick him. 

 

`What?’

 

`I don’t think I like this shirt.’

 

`It looks like all your other shirts for fuck sake - come on!’ 

 

 

We get into the car and drive off, ignoring a offensive (although technically illegible) note left on the windshield by the woman Dean blocked in earlier. I am feeling sick and dizzy. Perhaps if I vomit over the seat I might get his attention and be put to bed? We arrive at a bar that looks like it’s either being demolished or renovated. It’s hard to tell which. We fight our way through a dense crowd of trailer trash watching a man on a cow. Leaning against the bar is a woman wearing what might once have been described as a tight T shirt, but is now reminiscent of a dish cloth. She introduces herself as Daleen, I think, although Dean calls her Daisy and pats and paws her breasts which are pretty awesome. 

 

The rest of her is slightly more equivocal. Her age is bizarrely obscure, as is the lighting. For a moment I think I see the perennial optimism of my big brother wilt ever so slightly, but before I can capitalise on this weakness, shots of rocket fuel are being set up on the bar like a board game. Dean smothers Daleen in smutty small talk, some of it genuinely inspired, like a circus master preparing for the opening peformance. After two gulps of homemade resin I can no longer feel my face. There is a really weird burning sensation in my left hand which turns out to be a candle attached to a nearby table. There is no pain as such, just a mild sense of inconvenience. More shots. I pour them past my face over my shoulder. Dean doesn’t notice but Deleen does.

 

`Your buddy’s tense, Dean. Very cute, but obviously tense!’ She puts her foot in my groin and Dean smiles, a strangely intense sort of smile as if he has worked out some new unspeakable act of sexual perversion. I think I see Deleen frown but it might be her makeup peeling off in the heat. 

 

`So how you guy’s meet?’ she bats her eyelashes like chimney sweeps. Dean has obviously not told her we’re brothers. I try to work out why. I am too drunk to pin Dean down with my sarcasm alone, but a chance for a final plea bargain comes when our hostess decides she needs to `freshen up’ before her big act. 

 

`Dean I can’t do this, man. Really - ‘

 

Dean is already really drunk. He has that sexy sweaty glow over his nose and cheeks and is grinning at everything.

 

`Sure you can Sammy, come on - I love fucking with you -’

 

`Look Dean, I know what this is about. I know what you’re up to!’

 

He looks vaguely less grinny, as if he’s remembered something unpleasant. `What? What are you talking about?’

 

`Look we need to talk about this properly, dude, when we’re sober. I’m sorry I fele th way I do.‘ suddenly I feel close to tears and all girlie and lost. Sorry for what? Loving you, wanting to sleep with you, wake up with you, smell you, wash your socks - no wait - I did that already. Dean is now definitely perplexed. Something has gone wrong with the script of his fantasy threesome. 

 

`Sorry for what - look -’ he gets cross quickly. He stands up and knocks someone over by accident and grabs me quite hard. `Sam don’t start, ok - ‘ he raises his voice over mine `Just don’t, ok? I’m not ashamed of this, I mean - perhaps we should talk, but fuck it, lets fuck Daisy and then see how it goes.’

 

`How what goes?’ Dean is making no sense to me at all. Perhaps I am more drunk than he is. Perhaps Dean is speaking a foreign language. 

 

Deleen reappears looking exactly as she did when she left. Dean has his hand on my shoulder and is scowling into the middle distance, but the gesture sets Deleen’s facial muscles twitching again. She looks at Dean suspiciously and then takes my hand. 

 

`Come on Samuel, lets get this boat out of the river, your mate looks like he might sink at any minute. I pay extra for excess fluids. Your motel close?’

 

Clearly no one is speaking english now. I attempt an immediate translation. 

 

`Yeah’ 

 

Dean fishes out his keys but as we walk through the bar I take them off him and glare at him. Its a very nasty glare I use on vampires. 

 

`I’ll drive.’ 

 

Outside it is very dark. I am surprised by this given the fact we were in the bar for what seemed all of ten seconds. Deleen gets into the back with some style. Dean sits with a weird grimace on his face like he’s had a stroke. As I drive back I am traumatised by the possibility that Dean won’t get hard and I’ll have to do the business on my own! Deleen is talking constantly, I think its about her but it turns out she’s asking questions about us. 

 

`So how long?’

 

`What, sorry? How long to the motel?’

 

`No sweetheart, how long you guys been buddies?’ 

 

`Centuries’ whispers Dean.

 

`Actually we’re bro-‘

 

Suddenly Dean grabs my balls. Usually he punches my arm or my leg if he needs to queue me, but this is a full on scrotum yank, followed by a weirdly trailing middle finger. I manage to keep the car straight - just about - Deleen looks very suspicious now. 

 

`You guys better not be cops.’

 

In the motel Dean is naked in record time, and Deleen, evidently pleased by what she sees and able to now ignore the fact Dean keeps calling her Daisy, is sucking on his cock like a calf on a teat. The sight of Dean’s meat, massive and slightly curved, with a fat head veined like the Atlas Mountains seen from space is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen although I think mine is bigger. I rush into the bathroom and try and compose myself. Keep focused, Sam! When I get back there appears to be some sort of arm wrestling going on. I try to look affable and business like but Deleen is deeply professional and sucks my cock and Dean‘s without seeming to breath at all. I guide my head over her lips and accidentally touch Dean‘s dong. 

 

 

Deftly I stroke it and guide it, feeling Dean shuddering like a freshly beheaded chicken. Next minute Deleen is on the bed with Dean knifing abput the end of the bed and groaning. His body is wet with sweat. I climb onto Daisy feeling so turned on I fear I might actually pass out. I have this deep dirty feeling behind my balls and in my ass, made worse by Dean who is - without any doubt - looking at my butt and sneering.

 

I face the wall and let Deleen lick my low hanging balls and then - then something unbelievable happens. Someone sniffs around my butt. My whole body trembles and then two strong hands plant themselves on my cheeks and pull them apart. For a split second I think it might be Deleen herself who has sprouted an extra pair of arms like Shiva, but I realise it's Dean. And as I realise this I feel his long wet tongue edge my ring tentaively and curl up onto my lower back. He must be really, really drunk! He has to be. I mean any minute now he’ll realise his mistake and scream? But before I can re-position my thighs Dean says pleadingly `Oh Sammy you teasing son of a bitch! Show me, show me!‘ and his entire fucking head is wedged between my legs and he is rimming my ass like no tomorrow. And I cum that very instance and shout `God‘ or is it `Hallelujah‘? . I manage to just clear Deleen’s lower dentures before I jet out thick beads of semen like super glue. Dean cums as well, the first shot inside Deleen and then the second wide angled spray over my shoulders. Next minute I hit something and the room goes momentarily dark. Then I feel Dean shaking me and the sound of running water like I’ve hit a hydrant or something. 

 

`Sammy, you ok?

 

`Yeah. Yeah, sure. Did you lick my ass?’ 

 

Dean shrugs this off manfully. `Yeah I got a bit confused. Sorry’ and next minute he is rather furtively explaining to Daisy that we’re actually brothers. She is a bit snappy on the way out and keeps the change. Dean I and clean up in silence, my head working over time. 

 

What the fuck juts happened?

 

Dean licked my ass, he called me a teasing bitch and he meant it - I knew that tone of voice - and I also know that he was looking up incest on the web for himself, not for me! I sit up in bed unable to breath. The urge to ask him - to beg him to fuck me is almost too much. 

 

`Dean?’

 

`Wahhat?’

 

My nerve fails me. He might be having second thoughts now in all the blur of drink and panic. Best to leave it until tomorrow when I can ambush him over breakfast, perhaps give him breakfast, ass first. 

 

`Have you washed your face?’

 

`Jesus, Sam - are you going to obsess about this now - yes, I think!’

 

I turn over, away from him. `That was the hottest thing anyone has ever done to me.’ I had spoken to the wall, the pillow, but Dean said

 

`It was?’

 

\----------------------

 

The concluding part to follow - the moment the Universe began………


	6. Chapter 6

Event Horizon: the end phase.

 

Patroclus76

 

`Within a surprisingly short time the temperature of the universe had cooled to allow for the construction of sub-atomic particles in a period now identified as the Hadron phase. It is widely believed that through the Higgs field function these sub-atomic particles take on mass and are able to react with each other over time and `at a distance’ to form simple atomic structures but for a considerable period to come, the universe will be dominated by radiation only.’ 

 

\- Readers Digest. Your Microwave Explained.

 

\---------------------------------

 

 

Sam is thiking: Fucking hell! I have to speak with him - I have to tell him now! I have to get over there and ambush him before he gets into his denial routine and the jock back slapping fest that all is well and that Busty Asian Babes is the answer! I need to get him in the car where I can keeping saying `Dean……’ and `Hey Dean’ or `Look man,‘ and he can’t fucking respond because he’s trying to drive and not kill us and is wedged behind the wheel and I can just nag him to death and make him WANT me. I have to narrow my eyes and say Dean man I just want your jizz inside me and forever and preferably now this minute and oh god…..) 

 

 

Dean is thinking: 

(Fuck did he really say he liked me licking his ass - did I really hear that or was I hallucinating? Was that Sam or a pod person version of Sam? I mean there IS something ringing in my ears all the time and every time I close my eyes I see Sam’s butt pussy just above my face like some giant mango TALKING to me and I am so fucking drunk god am I drunk I shall never ever drink again but I had to drink to bury the desire to just corner Sammy against a wall and slam my lips on his and tongue his nose and tell him he is mine and no one else’s and that however socially awkward would he just mind taking his kit off so I could cover him in baby oil and cut my initials in his pecs and OH GOD Sam’s ass is singing to me now fuck I am going to be very very sick….must get to bathroom. Must look cool.’)

 

Sam.

 

Dean has just made some weird noise and is now walking into the wall. It’s a disconcerting sight and I clamber out of bed and get over to him like a dog to a bone. He is lying on the floor in a sort of Corpse Position.

 

`Dean what’s wrong?’

 

`Daisy……Daisy is trying to kill me.’

 

`Hey come on, man. Daisy’s gone.’ I squat down and slap his face playfully, realising that my boy tackle, semi hard, is dangerously close to Dean’s face. Zombie eyed, Dean is looking up at it as if he thinks male genitalia is either frightening or suddenly very odd. 

 

`Dean you’ll throw up and choke, here -’

 

With difficulty I put my arms under his pits. They smell hot and as I hike him up they smear my forearms with his stink.

 

`What are you doing!‘

 

`Dean, just relax!‘ 

 

My cock is now defying all emergency EGO protocols to disarm and is listing sideways, panting like a big slick fish out of water. If I try very hard to recall Dean being sick it might go away. Next minute Dean is up next to me looking at my mouth and perspiring heavily with his cock almost as hard as mine. In fact for one very scary moment they are curving in together like synchronised swimmers, their deep lipped piss eyes almost kissing. I clench my jaws and try and steer him towards the bathroom. He is completely out of it. As I turn I see his butt and the backs of his thighs, all powerful and all kissable. 

 

`Sammy I can explain everything - it isn’t what you think.’ 

 

 

`Dean, shut up.’

 

What I am currently thinking is so off the scale of mainstream pornography and so unexplainable that I can‘t speak but merely grunt and nod. With difficulty I angle him to wards the sink but he heads for the toilet and squats down like a sprinter readying for the 100 meters. I lift the lid up and wet a towel. I dab his face and he looks so relieved and so fucking beautiful that I almost kiss him, sneakily, a sudden dart of the head with the implausible excuse that I lost my balance or he fainted. He’s too pissed to notice, surely. I mean I could probably lean down and suckle on his testicles and he‘d probably not say anything: but then again. I wipe his face and his lips and then brush his hair back, re-spiking it slightly. I now have an unashamedly fully functioning horse cock swinging between my legs and am beginning to panic that it might just fire on its own. 

 

Luckily GOD comes to my rescue since just as I pat his lips and say he is a big baby and that if he behaves himself I will sit on his face all night he leaps up to the sink and vomits like Mount St Helens. I manage to do a sort of half back flip into the wall. Fuck knows what he’s being drinking. I try not to watch but am vaguely mesmerised by the cascading effect of purple-blue and red bile. It’s worse than exorcising demons! Finally he collapses away from the sink with a look of total relief on his face.

 

`Shit I feel so much better!’

 

I wet the towel again using the bath faucet, commenting that the sink should be cordoned off for the best part of a decade. I am dabbing Dean’s very butch face again and then, without thinking, my hands are over his shoulders and back, moving in deep even strokes like I’m looking for a pair of keys down the back of a sofa. His skin is like mine but not mine but while I ponder the meaning of this Dean is suddenly getting all snotty and batting my hands away like some 17 year old virgin.

 

`Sammy cut that out!’

 

Jesus. I stand up and glance down over my flat ribbed smooth stomach to see that Winchester TWO is semi relaxed, curled up on its eggs, slightly contrite.

 

Dean looks embarrassed and thanks me in a sort of mumble. 

 

`Ok, ok. Don’t mention it!’ I mince over to the door breathing in sharply through my nose. I do this when I want Dean to really know he has offended me. I’ve practiced it for years and it works like a fucking treat - a sort of Pavlovian tweak to the scrotum. He still looks angry but his eyes take on the deer in headlights look. 

 

`I’m fine Sammy, fine - thanks. Sammy -‘

 

`Is there anything else I can get you?’ I glower at him, making my eyes water and gently flaring my lips, showing some teeth. I can see he is already thinking what an ungrateful BASTARD he is but he seems too lost for words - or too pissed - to tell me what he wants. I know what he wants. It is so fucking obvious. I mean it’s more obvious than me shredding his pants and eating them for roughage. I half turn, knowing the light will catch me and make me look extra buff and moody, with strands of hair in my eyes. `Just call me, Dean-’ I place the emphasis on the first syllable, long glassy and hard. 

 

`Hold it, Sammy -’ 

 

But I slink off with a moody back glance, nostrils twitching in a semi-sneeze. I make sure he gets a good look at my butt and I walk away and I think I hear him choke. Once in bed I lay on top of the sheets and smoulder. What the fuck to do now? Dean is perfectly capable of falling asleep up against the tub or on a stone floor. I’ve witnessed it. The hope that tonight I would engineer a break through, the final smash and grab of my bitch virginity by Dean, all doggy style and nasty, fades rapidly. What is Dean scared off? That I might scream and call the Feds? That I might get pregnant? How can he be so fucking inattentive? Fuck! I lay and think of Dean all slick and hard, pushing my knees towards my chin, my butt raised on some cushions and my arms tied back like a sacrifice. I am on my bed looking into a mirrored ceiling and all I see is my brother’s back arched over me, his butt hard and clenched as he stabs away. He has a wide callused hand over my mouth and is telling me I'm doomed boy meat. My hand inadvertently reaches down and strokes another painful hard-on: my cock is like one of those flying buttresses, arched over my lower abs, leaking milk into my belly button like a glacial lake. I trace a faint line from its broad head down past my balls and into the smooth stubbly down of ass ring. So yet another disappointment. I lay still trying NOT to think of Dean. Light years pass, entire civilisations come and go but Deans sits out his lonely vigil and when I squint at the bathroom door its wide open and the tomb still occupied. In the end I’ve had enough. It’s now or never. I can’t wait for another galactic alignment to bring Dean’s stud cock into penetrable distance of my ass, armpits, mouth, ears. I’ll have died of excess semen loss. I jump off the bed, snatch a towel and storm over to the bathroom. To my surprise Dean is sitting on the edge of the bath tub like Atlas. He is wide a wake and staring at the floor. He looks a picture of utter miserable. 

 

`Dean, come to bed man!’ I try to sound angry but it’s impossible and I just want to snake my arms and legs around him and bite his ear and tell him I love him.

 

He looks at me and his eyes are wide and grey-green and his lips smile and my stomach liquefies. 

 

`Sammy come here a minute -’

 

Deans sounds sober and serious. I am surprised but look hesitant, suspecting a trap.

 

`What?’ (which is clearly an abbreviated form of `what the fuck are you up to now?’)

 

I walk over, stupidly holding my towel like a nun with a Habit. Dean has a far off vaguely misty look on his face but his eyes look ever so slightly predatory.

 

`Come here. Look Sam, I don’t know how to tell you this - ‘

 

`Tell me what?’ I brace myself for another Dean Denial, another implausible theory as to how he thought my ass was a mouth wash or the property of Daisy’s sister. 

 

`I know it’s all wrong, I mean, I know it shouldn’t be but - I want to fuck you senseless, man.’

 

I have sat down on the toilet seat and we look like we’re in a sauna or a cheap Toga party. 

 

`Yeah right. Sure you do, Dean.’ I am so pissed off with his games that I almost want to hit him, a sharp jab in his face, a poor man’s consolation for ejaculating over his chest or sword swallowing his knob completely and without dribbling. 

 

`Sam you shouldn’t tease man! I’m sort of asking here.’ he gives me the Dean `bad joke’ smirk and something inside me snaps.

 

`I am so sick of you! I am so fucking pissed at your denial and your teasing! I mean, what the fuck was tonight about, Dean? Tell me what your little scheme was?’ I am about to expand on this, opening it out into a full on Shakespearean soliloquy of disappointment, resentment, etc etc when I notice a weird look on Dean’s face, like he’s trapped his hand in something. I wonder if he’s about to vent plasma again but then decide he is planning something. Suddenly I don’t quite get this latest wacko version of the Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf endgame unless of course he’s serious. I shake my head, smiling trying to keep my temper and get up, heading towards the door. A double bluff: Dean always with the god damn scissors: 

 

`Fuck you, Dean.’

 

Before I get into the bedroom Dean jumps up like a fucking jack-in-a-box and pushes me into the corner of the doorframe. Expecting him to swing at me, I grab his arms but Dean pushes his face into mine, banging my head on the wood behind me. His mouth is hot and tastes of toothpaste and he starts kissing me, sloppy and somewhat off target like a prom date at the end of the second dance. I am mid way through `What the fuck!’ when our lips achieve a sort of hermetic seal, by which time - stunned - I have released my grip on his arm and his hand is on the back of my neck. With his other hand he is feeling me up big time, hands on cock and under my balls, his fingers touching my butt cheeks and digging around for my ass, cruel rather instant probing and when he gets near the target I bend my knees and sinking down on his hand hard and my entire body judders. Dean then launches his tongue, strong and LONG right down my throat with deep professionalism, a sort of double assault on entry and exit at the same time. My hands are on his shoulders and then on his back, clinging for dear fucking life. Off balance, we slip off the doorframe and crash onto the floor in what looks like an improvised Position 23.

 

`Shit!‘

 

`Sorry, but you’ve had this coming Sammy!’

 

`You took your fucking time, man!’

 

I say this as Dean grabs my hard cock like a baggage handler grabs a suitcase and pulls me sledge like across floor.

 

`Ride me you bastard!’

 

He sneers at me. 

 

`Say that again, Sam, beg me - come on!’

 

`Ride me, fucking ride me!’


End file.
